


The Remember All

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, shoddy science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: Being a werewolf saved Remus from dying, but when he wakes up with no memory of who he is, it’s up to Neville to save him from despair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HoggyWarty Xmas' 2016 holiday fest.

Neville sat beside an unconscious, but very much alive Remus Lupin and marveled at miraculous ironies. No one noticed that the battle that raged all through the day and into the night, where so many perfectly healthy, perfectly normal people had died at the hands of their fellow man had taken place the day before the full moon. Why would they have noticed? It didn’t affect anyone at the time. The miraculous irony came in when Antonin Dolohov shot a curse that would have killed the average wizard into the heart of a werewolf in the beginning phase of his monthly lunar transformation. The horror that had haunted this werewolf since childhood saved his very human life.

There were probably a million things Neville should have been doing, responsibilities that waited. He had owled his Gran immediately after the end of the battle to tell her the nightmare was finally over and he had survived it. She owled back and told him she’d be at St. Mungo’s helping out anyway she could. He knew the real reason she’d rushed off to the Hospital, it was the first thought he’d had when he’d seen Bellatrix LeStrange’s dead body. He knew there were some curses that were broken by death of the caster, and yes, his first thought was to run to his parents, but then hard, cold, realistic cynicism kicked in and he curbed that desire, not wanting to know. Besides, hours later when he hadn’t heard from his Gran with any updates, he felt he’d gotten his answer.

Some damages can’t be mended. Some curses can’t be broken.

So, he sat beside Remus and waited for a miracle while also, per Madam Pomfrey’s instruction, kept an eye on him. There’d been no studies, no literature of what would happen when the full moon hit properly while Remus’ human form clung so precariously to life. Would he have the strength to transform? And if so, would he have the strength to return?

They put him in isolation with protective wards and solitude and they watched. And the full moon came and went and yet Remus remained catatonic. Poppy remarked drily, “If I had known coma was a viable option to ward off the symptoms of lycanthropy, I would have tried it years ago.”

Neville wasn’t sure if it was preferable to the symptoms under the influence of Wolfsbane. He remembered once talking to Remus about the potion and how it eased his mind and kept him safe, or as safe as he could be while also having claws, fangs and a deep-souled animalistic hunger. Neville remembered the reverence when he talked about the potion and how it changed his life. 

***

It was three days after the full moon, four days after the end of the war and the only people who remained at the castle were a handful of staff, Poppy and the few patients too delicate to be magically transported to St. Mungos quite yet.

Neville stayed. He didn’t venture out of the hospital ward and the rubble that was once the Great Hall, taking naps mostly in a chair or a vacant cot. He was to terrified to see what had happened to Gryffindor Tower and even more so the Room of Requirement. He wasn’t ready to lose all sense of home along with everything else. 

Neville and Poppy sat at Remus’ bedside and discussed what they could do with Remus if he remained as he was. They were both of the opinion that until they were absolutely sure how his body would continue to be affected by the moon’s phases, that he should stay as far from other people as possible.

Neville had just volunteered to take Remus’ care upon himself, giving her time to devote to others, when Remus’ eyes fluttered open. Poppy, forgetting her professional detachment, gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Neville leaned forward to be the first face Remus saw when he could finally focus.

“What… what happened?” he asked.

“You were injured in the battle, but you’re alive.”

“Obviously,” Remus said with a raspy, dry breath. “What battle?”

Poppy and Neville exchanged concerned looks. “Here at Hogwarts?” Neville answered apprehensively. 

“At what?”

“Hogwarts,” Poppy said loudly, reaching for an instrument to check Remus’ ears.

“What is Hogwarts?” 

She froze. 

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

Remus’ eyes bulged in fear. “I don’t… don’t understand…”

Poppy stood over him, checking his vitals. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Remus’ eyes scanned them both and then room around him. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“Do you know who _you_ are?” Neville asked.

Remus continued to scan the room, growing more and more frantic. “I… I..” 

“Shhh,” Poppy soothed. “Don’t panic. You’ll only agitate the situation.” 

She excused herself and returned shortly with a small goblet of something sweet smelling. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Something to soothe your nerves.”

“Why can’t I…? Who am I…?”

“Shhh, we’ll sort this all out. I promise. Just drink this first.”

He did what he was told and immediately after swallowing the goblet’s contents he was again unconscious. Poppy sighed with relief.

“What are we going to do?” Neville asked.

Poppy sat in her chair, as if numb, for a very long time. “I don’t know,” she finally answered.

Neville didn’t know what scared him more, Remus’ not knowing who he was, or Madam Pomfrey’s not knowing what to do. “We need to take him to St. Mungo’s. They’re better equipped to deal with this.”

Poppy nodded, but then shook her head instead. “We can’t. Whether he remembers it or not, he is still a werewolf.”

Neville stopped. He hadn’t thought of that. Not that he’d forgotten that Remus was a werewolf, but the idea of what it would mean for Remus not to _remember_ this very basic and very real aspect of himself. It would be like him forgetting that he was a wizard. His mind swam. What if he didn’t remember magic either?

He thought of his parents. They knew about magic, knew that they were wizards, even remembered incantations, spells and what they did. They just didn’t remember that they were married, that they had a child, parents, friends. That they had been Aurors, had stood up to He Who Must Not be Named. All the important things that made them-- _them_. 

Neville stood up, all anxious energy and rampant determination. He _had_ to do something. Anything. He was _not_ going to sit there and watch anyone else he cared about live a half-life. Not if there were _anything_ he could do to fix it. And now that he was old enough, capable enough, there was very little he wouldn’t try.

This determination was why he found himself wandering to one of the only places he’d ever thought he’d venture again: Snape’s Dungeon. 

He’d been in the Headmaster’s Office under Snape’s regime enough to know that he had never really moved in, had never really took the position to be permanent. It was still, very much _Dumbledore’s Office_. And when Neville walked into Snape’s old rooms, they very much belonged to his old Potions Master, even in death.

Neville’s first task as self-appointed caretaker of a werewolf was to find how to make Wolfsbane so that it was as good as Remus always said Snape’s was. Apparently, according to Remus, no one made it as good as Snape did. 

_Of course not_ , thought Neville with a groan. 

Neville wasn’t ready to let his thoughts and feelings about his old professor and man that tormented him for the better part of seven years go just yet, no matter what Harry had to say about him and his true motives and loyalties. In Neville’s mind, very little of that absolved him from being a genuinely vile human being. Not yet. He was willing to concede that maybe someday in the future he’d see it differently, but not that day. Probably not the next one either.

Still, if he had eased Remus’ symptoms in anyway, it didn’t matter the motives, the reasons, he just needed to find what made Snape’s potion stand out, and he needed to find out as soon as possible. He wanted to make sure that if Remus had no memory of his lycanthropy and was going to be transforming as if it were his first time-- though even more traumatizing as he’d have no memory of being bit-- Neville wanted it as calm and painless as possible.

He walked into Snape’s office and instantly became overwhelmed by the task. Not that Snape’s possessions were haphazardly assembled or chaotically placed, but that there was just so very much of it. The man obviously took very thorough notes about everything. His desk and book shelves were daunting, but his private potion’s closet gave him hope that when he did find the particular recipe he was looking for, he’d have all the ingredients necessary. 

He first scanned the bookshelves for useful books and grabbed a few on potions and werewolf lore. There were a lot of both and Neville wondered about Snape’s fascination with werewolves and when it began. All that Neville knew was that Snape growled all through his third year when Remus was there an that he always seemed to loath the man, yet he could, and did, make Wolfsbane, and yet still, he was somehow instrumental to alerting the entire school that Lupin was a cold-blooded monster once a month. 

So, the two had probably never been friends, Neville surmised, though he also remembered a few times during the war when he would meet Remus at the Hogs Head and the subject would come around to Snape. There was always an odd expression on Remus’ face, his eyes shone in a mysterious way each time. He’d never asked, feeling it was unimportant at the time. Yet now, it seemed extremely important and he had no one to ask.

He grabbed a handful of books on potions, plants, werewolves and a few notebooks and brought them back to Remus’ bedside. He wanted to be there whenever Remus woke up. No matter how terrified he was that he’d brought the man back from the dead just to lose him all over again.

He had just sat down and laid the pile of books on a table next to him when Remus opened his eyes.

“Hello,” Neville smiled at him, but didn’t get in his face like he’d done last time.

Remus looked at him for a moment before he quietly asked, “What happened to me?”

“You were injured in a battle. The one that ended the war.”

Remus swallowed. “How was I injured?”

Neville shrugged. “No one’s sure, as the room was chaos, but we’re assuming, like so many others, you were hit with a curse.”

“A curse,” Remus said, but it wasn’t a question, just a rolling of the word around in his mouth to see how it tasted. “But, who am I? Why can’t I remember anything? Was that the curses effects… or something else?”

Neville sighed and held onto the glimmers of hope that these particular questions answered for him. Remus obviously knew about magic, about the effects of curses and that he suffered something that could be reversible… maybe. He pushed back the other darker voice that reminded him of his own parents.

“Your name is Remus Lupin. You are a former professor of this school and a key member of The Order of the Phoenix, the leading group of the Resistance to the rise of Voldemort.” _Oh yeah, and you’re also a werewolf,_ he added in his head.

“Remus Lupin,”he repeated, again tasting the words to see if the flavors were familiar. “Professor Remus Lupin. Really? What did I teach?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts. You were one of the best teachers we had.”

Remus seemed surprised by this. “I was? So, I was well versed in the Dark Arts?”

Neville swallowed. “Maybe we should stay away from using the past tense? There’s no reason to believe at this stage that your memory loss is permanent.”

Now Remus smiled weakly, but it warmed Neville’s heart immensely. They were going to get him back, they were. 

“Do you think it would be okay for me to sit up?” Remus asked.

“I think so, let me go find Madam Pomfrey and get her medical opinion, but I don’t think you have anything broken that would require you to remain prone.”

Poppy rushed back to Remus’ side when Neville alerted her to his request. As she helped him to sit up and brought his bed up to accommodate him, she asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Remus thought for a long moment. “Nothing really. I see flashes and shadows. Commotions and fleeting feelings, but nothing concrete, nothing to hold onto.”

“After running a scan on you, it appears you were hit with the Killing Curse, which, as the name implies, should have killed you, but we believe that…” she looked at Neville who motioned to not mention the lycanthropy just yet. If Remus had a hard time wrapping his mind around being good at DADA, he couldn’t imagine how he’d take the knowledge that he was a werewolf. They still had time. 

“…that for some reason… didn’t work,” she weakly finished, blushing at sounding so inept.

Remus’ smile was reassuring though. “Does that happen with that curse often? If so, they might want to look into changing the name.”

Neville and Poppy laughed and it seemed to release something in them both that they hadn’t been aware they were harboring. “Not often, no,” Neville answered.

“Only one other time I can remember,” Poppy added. 

“Harry,” Neville said.

“Harry?” Remus sat up. “Harry Potter?”

“You remember Harry?” Neville asked, stunned.

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, as if looking inward for more information. “I remember the name, and I have a tickle in the back of my mind that he is important, was _very_ important to my… my… _everything_ …but I don’t get an image, or any idea to what that everything was.”

“That’s still something.” Poppy patted his arm. “Something extraordinary. Something we can build on. I’m going to go and consult with the Healers at St. Mungos, Neville, why don’t you contact Harry and see if he could come for a visit. Maybe seeing him might spark something.”

“I’ll send an owl straight away.”

They were both so eager to be doing something productive that they ran off leaving Remus looking confused and anxious. Thankfully, Neville wasn’t gone long. 

Unfortunately, in his haste, he had left the books he’d brought up laying on the table next to Remus. When he returned he saw Remus’ eyeing the books. Neville rushed to put himself between the man and the tomes. 

“A bit of light reading?” Remus asked.

Neville chuckled nervously. “Something like that.”

“Studying for exams?”

“No, I imagine it’s safe to say that exams have been cancelled. Just as well, we didn’t learn much this year that we’d want to retain.” Neville shivered. “And I’m sure a fair few of us have no desire to return to the school anytime soon.”

“And yet you remain,” Remus said, studying Neville.

Neville shrugged, and then whispered a response before he even thought about it, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Remus studied him for a moment. “Well, I would feel sorry for you, but I don’t know which is worse, not having anywhere to go, or perhaps having somewhere quite urgent to go and not being able to remember where or with whom.”

“Oh Gods, sir, I didn’t mean… I don’t…”

Remus held up his hand. “I was joking, uh… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Neville. Neville Longbottom.” And for a moment, Neville hoped that he would see the glimmer of recognition he’d seen when they’d mentioned Harry, though he knew that was preposterous. 

“Neville,” Remus said, tasting that word too. For some reason, Neville liked the way he said it and wondered if Remus had always pronounced it that way, so full of meaning… of purpose.

***

“Neville, I got your owl, what’s going on? Why did you need me to drop…” Harry burst into the room, then stopped when he saw beyond Neville. “Remus…” he looked around, confused, as if expecting the twins to jump out and shout April Fools!  
“Remus?”

“Harry?” Remus asked.

He must not have heard the question in Remus’ voice, so overjoyed that the man was there and alive. “Remus!”

He rushed over looking like he was going to tackle hug the man, but stopped at the edge of his bed, seemingly remembering where they were. “How? When? I don’t…”

“It’s a miracle really,” Neville began. “What we thought was death was more a comatose state. He’s been alive the whole time.”

Harry looked from Neville to Remus and back. “But, I don’t understand… I saw you… saw you in the Forbidden Forest with my mum and dad, with Sirius…”

Now Remus’ confused face matched Harry’s. “Your mum and dad? Sirius? Do I… do I know these people?”

Harry’s mouth gaped open and Neville didn’t know which of the two men needed answers first. He decided that the sooner he got Harry up to speed, the better they’d both be able to explain things to Remus. After all, Neville didn’t have answers to just how close Remus was to Harry’s parents and Sirius Black and he had no idea what Harry had meant about seeing all of them—and Remus—in the Forbidden Forest.

He ushered Harry into the other room.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked in a hushed voice.

“Remus has no memory of who he is, where he is, or anyone else… though, he did show a bit of recognition when he heard your name.”

“My name?”

“It was the only time his memory sparked any sort of life. He said he recognized your name as something essential and important to him and yet he couldn’t remember what. We thought if together, you and I could ask him about other people important to him, that maybe he’d recognize some of them as well.”

“He doesn’t remember anything?” Harry asked, sounding both mystified and mortified. “Sirius and my father were his best mates in school. Sirius was… was everything after he got out of Azkaban… if he doesn’t remember him…”

“Harry, we don’t think he remembers being a werewolf.”

Again Harry’s mouth gaped open. “At all? How… Why… He remembers me and he doesn’t remember being a werewolf? How is that possible?”

Neville shrugged. “The mind is a strange and magical thing. I can’t say for sure, but having some experience with the pain and torture of memory loss, I imagine that some of it is a coping mechanism the mind sorts to make life bearable. If you could, what parts would you let go and what parts would you hold on to with dear life?”

Harry swallowed. “So, he’s choosing to forget everyone and everything?”

“No, not at all. There’s no choice involved, or at least no conscious one.” He took a deep breath and sat down on a recently emptied bed. Harry sat on one opposite him, waiting. “Again, I’m no expert and I’m not intimately familiar with Remus’ past and the things he held dear, but I have an idea that he holds onto you because you represent all he had, and all he had to fight for. Remembering you is his way to hold onto Sirius, and your parents, Dumbledore and the war. All of it.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “Is that how it is with your parents?”

Neville took a long time to answer. He’d thought about his parents and their predicament a lot, but he’d never really talked about it with anyone, not even his Gran, not really. “I was too young when it happened to know how different it was before; who they were as people. I was too young to know if they remembered me at all, if there was that spark of recognition that Remus had for you.”

“And they’ve never gotten any of it back?”

“Not anything from who they were then. But they hold onto everything since. They know I’m important and they love me, even if they don’t remember that I was their son and what it means to be parents. There are things that they do that gives me hope that something lingered, some maternal nurturing my mum will do without realizing what it means, some pride shining in my dad’s eyes when I tell him about an accomplishment I’ve had.”

“They must be really proud now, yeah?”

Neville looked away. “I haven’t told them yet.”

“You haven’t? Why?”

Neville swallowed again, then looked away, ashamed. “I’m not ready to see them quite yet.”

Harry didn’t say anything. 

After a long moment, Neville continued, “I think I held onto this belief that when it was over, when the world had been set to right, and the LeStranges had finally been eviscerated, that they’d be… I don’t know… fixed? And it was stupid and I know that’s not how magic works, but sometimes…” he pointed to the door where Remus laid breathing and still very much alive. “…well, sometimes there are miracles.”

Harry smiled sadly. “Yes, sometimes there are. And you want to see if he gets another miracle? Gets his life back?”

“I do. Very much so. His case is different from my parent’s, there’s no reason he shouldn’t get his memory back if his injuries were not caused by magic as much as by physical trauma. I’m holding on to the belief that his symptoms are from a head injury, nothing more.”

“So, what do you need me to do?”

“Tell him about himself. Not the werewolf part, we need to slowly work our way to that one I think, but everything else.”

“You don’t have much time to work around to that fact you know?”

“I’m giving myself a fortnight to create a Wolfsbane potion that will help, and then I’ll tell him. I want to make sure I have something that will ease his mind before I shatter it.”

“Wolfsbane, huh? Have you consulted Professor Snape’s libraries and notes?”

“Yeah, I brought up a few… oh shit!” Neville got up and rushed to the door. _Not again, you dolt!_ he chastised himself.

Remus looked up when they came racing back in. He looked abashed as he held one of the books open, a few others scattered on his lap.

“Whoever this Severus Snape is, he sort of hated me, didn’t he?”

Harry looked over Neville’s shoulder, grabbed one of the books, and exclaimed, “Where did you get that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I was just bored.”

“No, it’s okay,” Neville said. 

Harry ran his hand over the potion book. “Last time I saw this book it was in the storage vault that was the Room of Requirement at the end of our sixth year.”

“You know this book?” Neville asked.

“It was how I got through Potions that year. It was Snape’s, only I didn’t know it at the time. I thought it belonged to the Half Blood Prince, and didn’t discover until later that was Snape’s name for himself.”

“He called himself a prince?” Neville asked derisively.

“It was his mother’s maiden name. She was a witch, his father was Muggle. You’ll probably find in most of those books over there, that even more helpful then the text is the notes in the margins. Snape had opinions and theories about _everything_.”

“I remember,” Neville growled.

Harry and Remus both looked at him, then Remus looked back and forth between them both. “Do we not like this Snape fellow?”

Harry smiled sadly. “It’s complicated. You don’t remember anything about him?”

Remus shook his head. “But, like I said, he didn’t seem to like me too much.” He lifted the book he was holding, which wasn’t a book at all, but a notebook titled Severus Snape’s Potions and Poisons. The page Remus pointed them to just said: 

_For Lupin_ and listed ingredients, directions and symptoms. “Sounds vile,” Neville said, taking the book and skimming through it. At first it seemed to be just a collection of potions and poisons that Snape had invented or perfected, and a list of people who would suffer from them, but as he got farther into the book, it changed a bit and the “Notes” section were as large as the potions themselves. 

Neville concluded that it made sense really, if Severus Snape, consummate Potions Master was to keep a diary, it would most resemble a collection of ideas and how to implement them. At first, he was tempted to disregard this book as unimportant to his cause, he was after all, there for Remus, _not_ to find out more about Snape. But, as he kept seeing a name repeat itself throughout the book, Lupin, Lupin, Remus Lupin and then in the end, _Remus_ it became clear to Neville, that despite his dislike, Snape’s past and Remus’ might be more interconnected than he had believed. 

“So, this Snape was a classmate of mine?” Remus asked, pulling Neville back to the present.

“And a colleague when you taught here. He was also in the Order of the Phoenix—“ Harry began.

“The secret resistance to Voldemort?” 

Harry looked at Neville. “I told him about the Order already.”

“Ah, well yes, you were both in it, though he was mostly a double agent, so he had to put up an appearance of being on the other side. But I know you worked together a few times. And he helped… helped you whenever you needed a potion.”

“So, we were friends later in life?”

“Not really. At least I don’t think so. Snape held a grudge. A few friends of yours—my father among them—bullied Snape when he was in school.”

“Did I?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but you didn’t… didn’t stop them either. And, like I said, Snape held a grudge.”

 

***

> _Lupin was at it again. “Why can’t we be friends, Severus? I could be a good friend to you if you let me.”_
> 
> _“And how would that work? I’d just start hanging out with you and your friends at the Gryffindor table? We’d play a game of chess in the Slytherin Common Room? We can never be friends.”_
> 
> _“Maybe not, but it doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t need to be mortal enemies.”_
> 
> _“Of course we don’t. I’d have to care about you much more than I do for us to be that to each other.”_

The sun was sitting and it was just the two of them in an overly quiet, overly ramshackled castle and Neville felt… he couldn’t describe it… peace? 

“Why are you doing this?” Remus asked, bringing Neville’s eyes and mind back from the large window and the pink and orange horizon.

“What do you mean?” Neville asked, folding the journal he had been skimming on his lap and sitting up.

“All of this. Staying here with me? Taking care of me. You should be out there, starting your life, celebrating your victory.”

“I’m doing what I want to right now. This right here, what we’re doing here, it’s giving me purpose that I haven’t felt in a long time.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. You say I should be out there living my life? Well, the truth is, I don't really know what to do now, what I should to be doing. I’ve spent the last year, the year that we’re supposed to be figuring out our future, just trying to get me and my friends through it. I feel like I’ve missed a big step and being here with you, gives me time to reflect and an attainable goal to shoot for. Those are important to me right now. And as for celebrating victory, well… that’s a harder one. “

He looked out the window again and it was a long time before he spoke. Remus just waited. “I mean, of course I’m happy and beyond relieved that the good won and the evil was vanquished finally. But, as happy as I am, I still can’t forget how much was lost, and how much devastation that conquered evil left in its path. I want to be out there being joyous and hitting the town as conquering hero reaping the rewards of that… but… all I can see right now are the things I lost, the child soldiers who looked up to me to teach and protect them and they’re gone. I couldn’t…” he swallowed a sob loudly. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I shouldn’t be putting all this on you… I’m supposed to be making you better, not laying all this at your feet…”

Remus sat up and reached for Neville’s hand. “You are helping me. A life isn’t just dates and names, it’s also who you are as a person. You are reminding me of that, you are reminding me that I valued friendship; that I care about people.”

Neville smiled, and something bloomed in the pit of him.

***

> _I know the truth. I’ve always known. Lupin and his smug friends thought they were so clever. But not as clever as I. They think they can keep secrets of this magnitude? I smelled monster the moment I saw him. He might be oddly charming and for some strange reason, friendly towards me in the safety of daytime, but in the night, the night of the fullest of moons, he is a devil._

Neville enjoyed their time together and how isolated they were there in the castle. Many days it seemed they were the only people in the world. Just they and some extremely grateful house elves that kept them fed and amply tea’d. Poppy was about from time to time, but she was also busy with the transferring of patients to St. Mungos and to their respective homes. 

But, as the week wore on, more and more people started showing up. Ministry officials— some of them friends of Remus’ from the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, both, Neville was happy to see, deferred to him about the keeping Remus’ lycanthropy from him for the time being—and others there to assess the damage done to the building. Then there were the ones who wanted statements from Neville about not only the battle itself, but about the goings on in the castle under the Carrow’s regime. Neville scoffed bitterly that they had already began to attribute the terror that was his seventh year at Hogwarts to the Carrows and not Headmaster Snape. He wondered when he’d be able to see it the same.

Neville began thinking Hogwarts wasn’t as safe a haven as he’d believed. Still, St. Mungos, as much as he’d like to be close to his parents, wasn’t an option either until he got the Wolfsbane made and perfected. So, he needed to be close to Snape’s research, labs and stores of ingredients anyway. He tried not to think too hard of the irony of it being Snape that kept him tethered to Hogwarts. But, he didn’t see any way around, until Harry visited again and gave him a solution.

“Why don’t you guys move into Grimmauld Place?”

“Where?”

“It was Sirius’ house, he left it to me. It’s in London, close to everything, yet still magically secured. It was the headquarters for the Order leading up to the war, so it’s got Dumbledore and Mad-Eye levels of protections around it and we’ll secure safe passages between it and Hogwarts. It’s actually perfect and I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. I honestly still have a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I own a house.”

“You don’t live there?” Neville asked.

“Not currently, no. I’m staying at the Burrow right now. I can’t really see myself settling in there for a while. It’s pretty isolated and full of ghosts that I’m not ready to deal with. Those things would be perfect for your use though. It’s a quiet place no one will bother you, but Remus, you spent a lot of time there throughout different phases of your life. Maybe it will spark some flashes or something.”

“Sounds good to me,” Remus said enthusiastically. “Actually, anything that gets me out of this bed and this room sounds good to me.”

***

>   
>  _It was to be my finest hour. My moment of ultimate triumph. And yes, technically it was a completely insane thing to do, following a werewolf to his lair on a full moon, but how could I have ignored the opportunity?_
> 
> _But, since it’s me, of course it didn’t turn out how it should have. Sure, of course, yes, I could have died, should have died if I’m being honest with myself—though I’d die before admitting that Potter had anything but self-interest in mind when he stopped the events that would have been my life—but that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part was after, was sitting in Dumbledore’s office, just me and Lupin, listening to his miserable story as if knowing the whole truth was going to absolve anyone of anything. So what that he had had a miserable childhood, boo-hoo, that’s what childhood is for, to be endured. Doesn’t make you special. Doesn’t mean you are to be pitied._
> 
> _No, that wasn’t what made him special, what made him_ interesting _. It was that after all of that, how was it that he was still so very…_ him _? How did he live past it? Be so… what exactly? What exactly was Remus Lupin?_  
> 

They settled into Grimmauld Place immediately. Remus was drawn to the room that had been his, but walked around looking at what belongings he had there as if they were a stranger’s. He did the same for the room next door that had belonged to Sirius and had most of his belongings still in it. Neville claimed that one and Harry didn’t seem to mind as he could barely look into the room and the furnishings. The aged, gaudy and half naked pin-up posters would have to come down, Neville thought fleetingly. 

But they barely spent any time in their respective rooms. They were still, with a big house with many rooms, most at peace when they were together. 

“Do you think I was a solitary person in life?” Remus asked one night while they sat by the fire, he reading a Muggle novel they’d found at a shop down the street, Neville pouring over the books he’d brought back from Hogwarts. 

Neville thought about it for a long time. “I remember you as being alone a lot, but I’m not entirely sure that was by choice. I think that maybe left to yourself, you’d be happiest surrounded with a small group of friends who really know and appreciate you.”

Remus smiled at him. “You think you’re describing me, or you?”

“Me? Oh, I’ve been a solitary person all my life. Whether that is by my own doing or being an only child and then the 5th in a dorm with two sets of Mates For Life, but I’m usually most content in my own company and am not sure I’d ever feel myself with too many people about.” 

“Usually?”

Neville blushed, but then cleared his throat and admitted boldly. “I’ve grown very accustomed and contented by your presence.”

Remus just looked at him for a long moment, and Neville forced himself to not look away, no matter how exposed he was now feeling. He also felt that he was on the cusp of something very real for the first time ever.

“As do I,” Remus said in a hushed whisper, as if not wanting to disrupt the very air around them. “I might never remember who I was before, but you give me hope that I can start again in a new reality.”

Neville bowed his head, suddenly guilty. He knew what it was to live a life where your past was in shadows and he wouldn’t wish that for anyone, and yet, he liked the idea of he and Remus starting a new life together, wherever it might go from there. They could go anywhere, be anything.

***

>   
>  _I thought knowing would put a stop to this… this obsession. Yes, I now admit it. I have been obsessed. I’ve spent years trying to figure out who Remus Lupin was, and I had thought it was all tied into his being a werewolf, but now I realize that is only a small part. I’ve read all I can on lycanthropy; the lore and myth as well as the facts, its symptoms and real life accounts. All this has caused me to question even more. For how can someone survive with that bit of monster inside of them and not lose their minds entirely? And yet, he does it and not only lives through it, but seems to do it monthly and still holds on to his soul, his very… humanity. It baffles and amazes me._ He _baffles and amazes me._  
> 

Neville read this in a swirl of emotions and thoughts. He wanted to hold onto his hatred of Snape, but these entries were making it harder and harder to loathe him. In fact, they did for Neville towards Snape what they did for Snape towards Remus… almost. Minus the slight, subtle and still alarming romantic overtones, obviously. Neville was _never_ going to get there towards his deceased old professor, though, he could see more and more how Snape had felt that way about Remus. It seemed to Neville that it was impossible _not_ to fall in love with Remus a little after spending enough time with him. 

All of that was forgotten though as Neville’s eyes moved to the next bit of the page. 

“Finally!” he shouted into the empty room. He stood up, bringing the book with him, wanting to tell someone, to celebrate. For he had _finally_ found something useful. Snape had _finally_ gotten around to starting research on how to make and perfect Wolfsbane. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, for it felt like some sort of victory, but he had no one to tell, no one to share the discovery with. 

He almost wanted to tell Remus about the “predicament” (as Neville had begun calling it) just so he could share the good news of it. But, he wasn’t sure that Remus would really focus on that part so much as the being a monster from time to time part. So, instead he poured himself further into the journal, devouring all the information he could about the plants and how they were to be prepared, all the bits and pieces. 

He found himself mirroring the desperation and fever he felt oozing off the page in Snape’s frantic handwriting as he worked through the night on reading and cross-referencing data from his notes, journal entries and books, and for very much the same reason; to ease the suffering of a man who had no choice and no way out. 

And he didn’t even have a moment to be repulsed by the very idea that he now had anything in common with Severus Snape and he would die before admitting that this potion making had rekindled and reminded him of the interest and affection he had for herbology. 

He was too busy making lists, running to Hogwarts and gathering supplies, meeting with Professor Sprout about any buddings and also checking if the school had any functioning beehives. Snape had the downright brilliant idea, that in addition to full strength aconitum in the first dose, using the secretions of the moth caterpillar, the venom of the snake and the royal jelly from the bee that feeds from the plants cultivated in the greenhouses for further doses. 

“Severus Snape, you are a _genius_!” he exclaimed, then looked to make sure no one heard him. He wasn’t ready to publically admit his new found admiration for the man just yet. With the lesser doses he had a lot of room to tinker, room for trial and error and still have reassurances that Remus’ symptoms will be soothed and eased. It was almost fool proof this way.

“Why were you hiding this in your personal effects?” he scowled to his dead professor. But, having read more of Snape’s journals, more of his not-quite-subtle-anymore-practically-love-letters-at-this-point journal entries, he thought he knew the answer. He needed to be the one to do this for Remus; he needed this one thing to bind them together. Neville got that and deep down felt very much the same way. He might have started this obligation for other reasons, maybe many of them, but the reasons now were different and he held on to them with a death grip, refusing to relinquish them for anything.

Many times he wondered if he should tell Remus about Severus and his new understanding of their relationship. But, there was still one piece of the puzzle missing, and that was the biggest excuse Neville used to keep the information from him. The piece was, of course, if these feelings Snape had for Remus had been unrequited or not. Except for the retelling of Remus’ wish to be friends with Snape when they were both twelve, there was no indication that Remus even knew of Snape’s feelings, let alone that he had any of his own.

He did come close though, came close to telling him everything. He’d just come home from his visit to Hogwarts where he’d collecting more of Snape’s notes and enough potion supplies to set up a makeshift laboratory there at Grimmauld Place and had found Remus drinking and morose.

“Join me?” Remus said when Neville found him in the kitchen, pouring a glass of amber liquid.

“What are you drinking?”

“I have no idea, but this Sirius fellow seemed to have been a big fan of it. I’ve found stashes all over the house.”

Neville took the glass offered him and sat opposite Remus at the table.

“I wonder how many times Sirius and I sat across this table, drinking from these glasses. I wonder if he ever hated every single wall of this house like I’ve started to.”

“You’re unhappy here?” Neville asked, his heart falling.

Remus seemed to sense he’d hurt Neville’s feelings and smiled sadly. “Not _unhappy_ no, just… dissatisfied and antsy I guess. I don’t know what we’re doing here anymore. If I’m not going to get my memory back, my life back—and there’s a good chance I’m not—than I should be going about getting a new one, shouldn’t I? I mean really, what are we doing here?”

Neville didn’t say anything for a long time. He had to school his response and not bring his own feelings on the subject to it. He took a long swallow of his drink and let the burn distract him from the pain he was feeling. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”

“I must have had quite a life for you to fight so hard for me to get it back.”

Neville laughed. “Not really.”

“Then why?”

Neville reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. “A few reasons, most of them I’m realizing are incredibly selfish and I feel foolish for sharing them.”

“But you will, right? Because the not knowing is killing me. There’s so much I can’t know, this can’t be one of them.”

Neville took a drink before beginning. “My parents. They lost their memories when I was just a baby. My whole life, I’ve lived with them not knowing me, not knowing who they were, what mattered to them. And the idea of that happening to anyone else I care about, the half-life of it, I just… I can’t…”

Remus reached for Neville’s hand. “Your parents? Jesus, Neville. How do you keep doing this? You’ve spent your entire life being other people’s memory? Why would you take this on?”

Neville blushed. He gained strength with Remus’ hand in his, but he still wasn’t bold enough to confess his ever growing feelings just yet. So, he shrugged. “Maybe it’s my calling.”

Remus squeezed his hand. “I won’t do it to you. I won’t, I’ll go—“

“I know you won’t,” Neville hastily interrupted, not wanting to hear where he could go. “It seems like we’ve been here forever, instead of the week, but please, just give it a little bit longer. I’m working on something—“

“Something to _fix_ me?”

Neville swallowed, feeling suddenly so inept. Remus wanted to be fixed, to have a new life. Neville would have liked to give him that, he was just stuck trying to make sure the horror of his last one didn’t make any life he was stuck in unbearable.

“Something to ease your mind. But until then, if you need anything, need to get out, go somewhere, I think we can arrange that. I don’t want this to feel like a prison to you, and I _really_ don’t want you to feel like I’m some sort of jailer.”

Remus squeezed and released Neville’s hand with a smile. “My very own Dementor.”

Neville laughed. Having Remus talk about magical things, no matter how dire, always gave him hope. “I promise I will not suck your soul.”

Remus took a deep drink from his glass, draining it, and with a wicked light in his eye said, “Well, someone has got to suck something, because I’m _dying_ over here.”

Neville spit out the drink he’d just taken. After he got done coughing, after he got his heartbeat down to manageable levels, he laughed unconvincingly. “ _That’s_ your problem?”

“Neville, I _literally_ can’t remember the last time I had sex. I might have been able to go without it for long stretches in my other life—though I’m thinking probably not, because this feeling seems pretty bone deep--”

“What feeling?”

“This itch under my skin, like a primal need, an insatiable hunger. Don’t you feel that way sometimes?”

I do _now_ , Neville thought to himself. But deep down, Neville knew that this particular feeling was probably more a symptom of Remus’ lycanthropy that he had overlooked. He had mistakenly thought that Remus’ werewolf side only effected the specific days of the full moon. Now he saw that the “symptoms” probably mimicked the lunar waxing and waning, building and relenting. He _had_ to tell him.

But not that night. He was too drunk. He realized that as he had to fight desperately with himself not to offer himself to Remus that very moment. It would be _so_ easy, it would ease both their immediate need, it would feel so right. It would be wrong though, he knew that; not now, not like that. 

It did fuel him to work even harder, learn even more. He worked night and day in his makeshift lab. He meticulously gathered, prepared and began concocting the potion, which was a nightmare to make. As he sweated over every inclusion, he had flashbacks of Snape standing over his shoulder, mocking and humiliating him and his pathetic attempts. Part of him wanted to call Hermione for help, but the other part growled and stamped out those memories and instead focused on the year he learned to stand up for himself, that he was forced to realize he was stronger, braver and yes, smarter than he’d ever believed.

“Fuck you, Severus Snape; I got this!” he cursed under his breath.

“That’s telling him.”

Neville spun around. Harry held up his hands, “Sorry to startle you.”

“Merlin! A knock would have killed you?”

“I absolutely should have. I just thought I’d come over to see how everything was going. See if you needed any help, with this or… anything else.”

Neville turned back to the potion and Harry walked into the room to stand beside him. 

“I haven’t told him yet. But I need to… soon. He’s starting to… to feel the effects of what he is, he just doesn’t know it.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s on edge, feeling caged and… having… urges…”

“Urges?”

Neville blushed. “Primal urges.”

Harry looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh! What are you… how are we…?”

Neville shrugged when he realized Harry wasn’t going to have words to finish any of those thoughts. “We tell him, we give him the potion and we go from there. What else _can_ we do?”

Harry thought for a moment. “You want me here with you? We can tell him together.”

“I think it should be just me,” Neville said, hoping Harry wouldn’t press too hard why. “But I’d like you to be available in case I need you.”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed, sounding relieved to not have to witness the confrontation. “Just tell me when and I’ll make myself available for you.” 

“Tomorrow night,” Neville said before he could think about it too long. He’d been putting it off so long that he knew left to his own devices, he’d put it off even longer, as long as he possible could, but that wasn’t fair to Remus. 

Harry looked down to the cauldron of gurgling and pulsating slime and grimaced. “And this will be done by then?”

“It will be done by the time he needs it.”

Harry looked skeptical, but patted Neville on the back. “I trust you.”

Neville beamed. He was _never_ going to tire of people telling him that.

***

That night Neville fell into bed too exhausted to even remove his shoes, let alone get undressed. He worked all day in the lab. Remus had come in to deliver a plate of dinner, had looked at the mess of chopped up bug bits and oozing sludge and excused himself, holding his nose. He didn’t ask any questions, seemed to have no curiosity about what Neville was doing. Which was odd, Neville realized too late.

Later when he went to find Remus to see if he was okay, he found him locked in the bathroom.

“Is everything alright?”

“Just about to take a shower. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Neville staggered to his room. It wasn’t until he’d fallen onto his bed that he thought on just how many times Remus had taken a shower in the last couple of days. Neville sat up, all thoughts of sleep gone, his skin suddenly sizzling with heat at the image that came to his mind about what Remus was at that moment doing in the bathroom.

He was certainly familiar with that precise method of tension release, and living in a dorm room with other boys becoming men, was of course used to the idea that he was not the only one who found release that way. But, there was something about thinking about Remus there, on the other side of the wall, wet, anxious, needy and taking care of himself that pumped the blood in Neville’s veins like nothing else had. 

He snaked his hands in between his pants and skin and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, not even slightly surprised that it was rock hard. He tilted his head to the side and bit his lip as he gripped tightly and pulled slowly.

He was about to close his eyes and surrender to the sensations and his over eager imagination when he saw a slip of paper slightly peeking out of the stack of Snape’s notes he’d been pouring through. It jarred him because from the little bit of writing he could see, he could tell it wasn’t in Snape’s handwriting.

With his free hand, he reached as far as he could, his fingertips just grazing the errant piece of paper. He stretched and clutched at the paper, just righting himself before falling out of bed, and sighing that he wouldn’t be discovered in this position when he’d knocked himself out.

He pulled the paper to him and with his other hand still around his shaft, but otherwise totally forgotten began to read:

_Severus,_

_I know you will burn this letter as you have with all the rest. This fact used to sadden me, but now I find comfort in the knowledge that all my clumsy attempts at romantic musings and my euphoric post-coital confessions that I am only bold enough to commit to with ink and quill will never be discovered and mocked by others. Your derision and scorn towards sentimentality? I’ve come to live with that, for you know I am useless to stop myself this folly, just as I find it impossible to live without your presence and affections no matter their danger or maddening infrequency._

Neville instantly stopped what he was doing with both his hands. It felt wrong on every level, reading a love letter that didn’t belong or relate to him, while also pleasuring himself. 

As much as he wanted to keep reading to _know_ everything; he didn’t. He knew enough. He had the last piece of the puzzle. He now knew the feelings were very much requited; complicated and perhaps as covert as the rest of Snape’s life, but still a shared affection, a relationship. He should be ecstatic, overjoyed for Remus that he had this in his life, this love that defied logic. And he was, even if the knowledge of it did make him mourn Snape’s death for the first time. This knowledge still didn’t stop a flicker of a flame of what he could only assume was jealousy lick at his chest. 

He got out of his bed and gathered as much of the papers, journals and books as he could carry. He contemplated waiting until the morning, but he was pretty sure he’d lose his nerve if he waited another minute. 

Of course, in his rush, he had forgotten what Remus had been busy doing only moments before. He answered his bedroom door with a towel around his waist and his hair wet and mussed. Neville forgot what he was there to do for a moment. Remus just waited.

“Um…” Neville began, flustered. “Can I talk to you downstairs?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah… sort of… yeah…”

“Okay, just let me get dressed and I’ll be right down.”

“Of course,” Neville said and then just stood there.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

Neville jumped. “Right, right, yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He was pacing in front of the fire by the time that Remus came down.

“I’m glad everything is okay or you would have put a hole in the floor by now,” Remus said with a smile.

Neville took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I have three things I’ve been meaning to tell you, three things I should have told you long ago, but I wanted to get them sorted first… wanted to—”

“Neville, what is it?”

“Okay, I’ll get the big one out of the way first. I should have told you this from the beginning, but I wanted to make sure I had the resources to help you first. I think I have them now, so… well, now I’ve got to tell you.” He took a deep breath. Remus waited. “Once a month, on the full moon, you transform into a—”

“Werewolf?” Remus asked.

Neville’s mouth dropped. “You knew?”

“I didn’t know so much as I…” he shrugged, “had a hunch, with the books you were reading, the potion you’re brewing… and then there was… well what was happening to me… physically.”

Neville sighed heavily, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted. Until Remus asked, “So, that was the first thing you had to tell me, what was the second and third?”

Neville laughed nervously. He hadn’t really prepared for that first one to go so quickly. He could feel the heat rising into his cheeks. “The second thing? The second thing is… is… I’ve… I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said in one long breath. But before Remus could respond he continued. “And the third thing— I’m not the only one.”

He indicated the stacks of paperwork and books he’d brought down before he walked out of the room. It took everything in him not to walk out the front door and Apparate as far as he could and just disappear into the night, never to be heard from ever again. But, he’d come that far, taken that step and it would be ridiculous to leave without seeing how it played out.

He went to his room and he waited, and waited. He couldn’t even fathom falling asleep now and he marveled that this was still the same night that he thought he’d drop off the minute his head hit the pillow.

It was almost dawn when he heard Remus climb the stairs and approach Neville’s room. He forced himself to stay where he was and to not rush him. 

“So,” Remus began, leaning against the door frame of Neville's room. “You love me?”

Neville sat up from where he'd been laying on the bed counting spots. Remus looked so calm, slightly amused and rather smug. If Neville hadn't already fallen hard, the way Remus was looking at him that moment would have done it.

“ _That's_ the part you want to discuss?”

“Right now? Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Remus took a step into the room. Neville offered him a chair across the bed where he still sat. As he walked to it, Remus began, “Well, I figure the werewolf part is my life; my past, present, future and I'll spend a lot of time thinking, stressing and sorting that tomorrow and every day after. But, from what I’ve read, and what I’ve seen you working so hard on, well, I trust that I’ll survive it. I trust you’ll help me through it.”

Neville’s heart swelled, but he said nothing as Remus continued. “As for the Severus part, that is my past, where it will forever remain, and yes, I hope to someday have the memories of it back, but right now?”

“Right now?” Neville repeated as Remus sat down, pulling the chair closer to Neville so that their legs almost touched.

“Is the you loving me part. That’s where my future lies. That's where I want to be now.” He took Neville's trembling hands. “With you. Sorting _our_ future.”

“And if your memory never comes back?”

Remus shrugged. “It will be like it is with your parents, I’ll maybe never remember when you were my student, when we were soldiers in a war, but I’ll remember every moment from today on. I’ll hold onto all those memories, you can have the others for safe keeping. If, that is, you want the added respons—”

Neville answered by leaning into Remus and stopping him with a kiss. Soft, slow and hesitant for only a moment before Remus responded with the heat and demand of a man who desperately needed to remember what it felt like to kiss, to taste and touch another person. Within minutes, he had Neville pinned against his mattress, a growl low in his throat as he reached over their heads for Neville’s wand and without a spoken word, closed the door and turned off the lights.

***

They spent the rest of the day in that bed, only leaving when their stomachs insisted in the late afternoon. They wrapped up with blankets and headed to the kitchen, bringing their meals to the sitting room where they could cuddle up on the sofa in front of the fire as they ate.

Remus had just gone to the kitchen to get them a tea refill when Harry’s head appeared in the fire. Neville shrieked, covering his nakedness by pulling his blanket over his lap, his mind flashing to where that lap had been only a moment before.

“Harry!”

“Sorry, did I—”

“No, no, what’s up?”

“Um… I was supposed to call? In case you need me when you talked to Remus…”

Harry’s eyes scanned the room and the way they bulged, Neville knew without looking what he had seen. He turned his head anyway. Yep, there was Remus; standing at the door with a sheet wrapped around his waist and nothing else. Harry’s eyes went from Remus to Neville and back again.

“So, does this mean…?”

“I told him,” Neville said.

“Yeah?” Harry said, looking like he was struggling not to laugh. “How did it go?”

“He took it _really_ well,” Neville answered, giving up the similar struggle he was having to smile wide.

“Excellent. That is excellent!”

Remus came and sat down next to Neville.

“Thanks for all your help,” Remus said.

“Not at all. I’m just glad to see… to have you look… so happy.”

“Me too,” Remus said, putting his arm around Neville’s shoulder. “Me too.”


End file.
